


The essence of red poppies

by Clarisse (transnymphtaire)



Series: Writing Style Experiments [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Diary Tom Riddle - Freeform, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-07-16 02:43:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7248892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transnymphtaire/pseuds/Clarisse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death is a very seductive force, and when they want entertainment, they get entertainment. What does it matter to them that their Master have to pay the prize?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a writing-style experiment. The title sounds pretentious, I'm aware. It has a certain meaning though, besides the fact that red poppies are my favourite flower. You should look it up if you're interested.
> 
> Warning: I'm literally making everything up as I go. There's no planned plot. There's not even a vague idea.

The castle walls rose high on both sides, yet they were in ruins. Dark shadows loomed over the rubble that was left over after the battle that had occurred only hours before. Blood painted the ground and watered the burnt plants, and the air was thick with leftover smoke from the rapid firing of spells. The echo of steps broke the silence, the echoes growing in volume until it sounded as if a giant was walking through the empty corridors. There was no other sign of life, the scene of the battle long since abandoned by the survivors and their fallen comrades.

The echoes of steps danced between the walls, danced up staircases and past destroyed classrooms. It felt like hours before they came to a stop in one of the castle’s towers. The same tower where a murder, or perhaps it was an assisted suicide, had happened only last year. The echoes started up again as the steps grew closer to the tower’s window. The steps were soon exchanged for the sound of shoes scuffling to find purchase on the window ledge.

“You could do it.” The words sounded as if they were dripping honey, sweet yet hard to trust. “Of course, you wouldn’t succeed in much beyond breaking your bones, but it would be entertaining.”

“Entertaining for whom?” a dead voice asked, with hints of wary tiredness. The dead voice’s shoes had finally found purchase. It wouldn’t take much to jump, or to fall.

“For me.” the honey replied. The dead voice did not offer up a comment, instead settling for a noncommittal hum.

“What else is there?” the dead voice suddenly asked, almost changing into something strangled but otherwise not giving any signs of life.

“Life.” the honey answered, although the words were thick with adverseness. The dead voice gave a strangled laugh, the first sign of real emotion.

“Life.” it repeated thinly with a rough edge around the words.

“Stop acting as if you were already dead.” the honey snapped, more strident than sweet. The words danced between the tower walls, and the echo seemed to never die out.

“But I am.” the now rough voice answered, in a manner that stressed the words insistently. “Or I was!”

“And now you’re not.” The honey had once again smoothed out, the words sweet and placating. “And you’ll never be.”

There was a scuffling sound as the shoes lost purchase, followed by a sharp inhalation of breath. The echoes readied themselves for the sound of a thud, or a scream, but neither came. Instead there was the sound of movement as the rough voice moved to sit down upon the window ledge. As the conversation seemed to drag on, it was a decent decision.

“You’re lying.” The words were monotonous, as the roughness had lost its edge at the revelation.

“Now, _why_ would I be lying about that?” the honey asked rhetorically. It was the sweetest sentence yet.

“Because you’re Death.” the monotonous voíce replied, ignoring that the question had not expected an answer.

“Ah.” the honey turned toneless. “So you realised that. What a clever boy you are, Harry.”

* * *

Harry turned his head so that he looked into the tower, instead of out over the castle grounds as he had done since he first reached the window. If he was surprised to see a tall, dark-skinned man with the white outlines of a skull etched into his skin, Harry didn’t show it. The skull shimmered like gold in the moonlight coming through the window, only adding to the ominous feeling in the tower room.

“I never wanted to become your Master. I inherited the cloak, I was forced upon the stone, and I never meant to win the wand.” he said matter-of-factly.

“Which makes you the perfect Master.” Death answered, their voice once again sweet as honey. Harry turned to look out over the castle grounds again, greatly preferring the view of the remains of battle over the personified concept behind him.

“Can you undo it? If I give you the Hallows?”

“I can not, nor would I even if I could.”

“Then what do you want, if you’ve accepted me as your Master?”

“Entertainment, Harry. I want entertainment.” Death answered wistfully.

“Was the battle not sufficient enough?” Harry spat, the words like poison on his tongue. Death laughed, and it sounded like rattling bones. The contrast to the honeyed tone made him shiver. Harry took a deep breath and told himself that it was because of the cold air. He wasn’t afraid of death, nor of Death. He welcomed the former, and was wary of the latter, but he wasn’t afraid.

“There’s no entertainment to be found in war.”

The words did not have time to echo before they were taken by the wind. Harry quelled the urge to turn and look at Death. He lifted his gaze towards the moon hanging in the sky instead. For the first time since the battle’s end, he gave himself a moment to mourn. For a moment, he even mourned the death of Tom Riddle. He would never mourn the death of Voldemort, but he couldn’t help but feel for the man behind the monster. More so when he thought back to the Tom he had encountered in the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago.

“I could bring him back.” The words were whispered in a smoky voice into his right ear, Death’s lips barely touching as they moved. A pair of wiry muscular arms embraced his waist, securing him on the window ledge.

“W-who?” Harry asked, the question strangled.

“Tom.” A kiss to the skin behind his ear. “Marvolo.” A pair of lips slightly dragging over his earlobe. “Riddle.” The sentence was punctuated by Death sucking at his earlobe and teasing it with sharp teeth. Harry exhaled a shaky breath.

“W-why?”

“Because you desire it.” A kiss to his jawline. “And I aim to satisfy.” Death moved down to suck on his neck, once more teasing with teeth. It would likely leave a mark, but Harry was not in the right state of mind to care.

“I don’t.” Harry protested.

“You do.” Death moved down to the junction of his neck. Harry suddenly felt aware of the layers of dirt, sweat and blood that covered him. “I read it in your soul.”

“Stop.” Harry demanded. Death withdrew, and he turned to look at them properly. “You’re lying.”

“Death cannot lie, Master.”

“I still don’t believe you.”

“Your soul was intertwined with his for almost 17 years. There’s a piece missing of you, and he’s the only one that can fill the hole.”

“What happens if I leave it be?”

“You’ll never feel complete again. There’ll always be something missing from your life. It’ll start as that little thing you just can’t put your finger on and spiral from there.”

“It’s better than bringing Voldemort back to life.”

“But who said anything about Voldemort?” Death whispered, the words devastatingly sweet. “Tom Riddle is the man, not the monster. You said so yourself.”

“The man that became the monster.” Harry corrected. He did not question that Death had read his thoughts without using legilimency.

“Same difference.”

“It’s not-” Harry started to protest when Death straightened up and cut him off.

“I’m not bringing back Tom’s whole soul anyway. Only the half. The one that never became Voldemort.”

“You mean…” Harry trailed off as he processed what Death meant. “The Horcrux from the diary?”

“So clever you are.” Death praised, once again bending their head to kiss Harry’s jawline. “Yes, I’ll bring back the Tom Riddle that you killed with a basilisk tooth at the age of twelve.”

Harry turned his head to look at Death, their lips separated by mere centimeters.  
“You know about that?”

“Everything is in your soul, Master.” Death replied with a chuckle, once again the sound reminiscent of rattling bones. They closed the distance and gave Harry a closed-lipped kiss before drawing back. Death straightened up for a second time and withdrew their arms from around Harry’s waist. Harry swung his legs over the window edge so that he faced the inside of the tower room, and therefore Death.

“Is there anything about this that I should know?” Harry demanded. He did not trust Death, and no honeyed words or kisses could change it.

“No.”

There was a snap of Death’s fingers, and in a cloud of smoke as if it was a mere muggle magic trick, 16-year old Tom Riddle showed up in the tower room - disoriented yet emitting an aura of being in control of the situation. Harry pressed his hands into fists to calm himself down. This was not the man that he had duelled against hours before, this was a boy that he had met in an underground chamber as a child, and that he had destroyed. He could do it again if the need arose.

“Oh. Perhaps I should have mentioned that your souls are now bound together.” Death’s honeyed voice broke the eerie silence that had settled as Tom processed the situation and Harry fought down his emotions.

“A soul bond, you say?” Tom asked, a calculating gleam in his thankfully dark eyes. Harry did not know what he would have done if red had been looking back at him.

“Two halves of one whole.” Death confirmed. Harry felt the urge to rid their voice of honey. The sweetness radiating from Death was overwhelming and made him lose focus on the conversation. It took a moment before it settled in, and Harry jumped down from the window edge so that he was standing in the room. Death was close enough to touch.

“Master, calm down.” Death warned, as Harry’s magic rose wildly around him. Harry turned sharply so that he was facing them.

“I asked you if there was anything I should know, and you _lied_ to me, after you told me that you can’t.” Harry’s voice was low, the edges of the words sharp as knives.

“I didn’t lie. I didn’t think that you should know.”

“You didn’t-!”

The words had barely left his mouth before Harry’s magic forcefully apparated him away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things rarely go as Harry wishes them to.

Death smiled ominously at the empty spot in front of them where their Master had been only seconds before. They glanced around the tower room to confirm that it was empty before they disappeared as well. Now that they had started the entertainment, they didn’t want to miss any of it.

* * *

A cloud of dust had rose up from the ground at his sudden apparition and the clumsy landing that it resulted in. Harry found himself sitting on the ground, coughing as he tried to process that he had just disapparated from Hogwarts without consciously trying to do so. That the wards were still down since Voldemort and his followers and broken through them did not in any way explain how he had unconsciously apparated to… where was he exactly?

His limbs ached when he slowly got up into a standing position, but Harry pushed the pain aside in favor of inspecting his surroundings. The dust had set on the ground, making it possible for him to see clearly.

“I think we’re in an abandoned warehouse.”

The voice that came from somewhere to his left was one that Harry before this day had believed he would never hear again. It contrasted Voldemort’s high voice, although it was still clear. The low dulcet tones of Tom Riddle did not belong outside of Hogwarts, Harry fleetingly thought as he turned towards the source. If he had thought the voice was out of place, it was nothing against actually seeing Tom Riddle standing in what was apparently an abandoned warehouse. Tom’s handsome visage stared right back at him, and Harry couldn’t keep a grimace off his face. It was soon replaced by tired acceptance of the situation.

“Looks like it, yeah.” Harry answered, his tone short. He was in no mood to converse with someone that should be dead. Why he had ever let himself trust Death, if only for a moment, was beyond him. Sweet kisses should by no means be enough to earn even an ounce of his trust.

“I take it you didn’t mean for us to come here?” Even if Harry hadn’t been watching Tom, the raised eyebrow accompanying the question could clearly be heard in Tom’s tone.

“I didn’t mean for you to come here at all.” Harry bit out. He had wanted to be alone, but it seemed like the soul bond that Death had forced upon them didn’t allow for separation.

“We should either get out of here or do the best of it.” Tom suggested. “Speaking of, you’ve grown up well. Nothing like that scrawny twelve-year old that got in over his head…”

“If you remember,” Harry started as he turned away from Tom, his tone sharp. “I bested you back then.”

“By luck, not skills.”

“Luck is all I need.”

“If you say so. How is my other self doing?”

Harry’s head snapped back towards Tom, the look on his face incredulous.  
“I assumed that you knew.”

“That I knew what?”

“You’re dead, Tom. Voldemort is dead. I duelled him, and the killing curse backfired on him.” he explained matter-of-factly. “If not for Death, you wouldn’t be here.”

“So you didn’t want me here? I’m hurt, Harry.” Tom answered, as if the news didn’t bother him. Harry could see the tightening of his lips, a sign that Tom had reacted to the news but didn’t want to show it. He contemplated telling Tom to drop the masks, but decided against it. He had seen Tom’s true face in the Chamber of Secrets, and had no desire to do so again. At least not today - he had already duelled for his life once.

“Oh, he does. He’s just in denial.” a third voice stated. Harry and Tom seemed to be in sync as they towards it, only to find Death leaning in an unfazed manner against the wall. They were partly hidden in the shadows as the warehouse didn’t have a clear source of light.

“Interesting.” Tom said at the same time as Harry made a noise of protest.

“Is there any point where people will stop to meddle with my life all the bloody time?” he asked the room rhetorically. First Dumbledore and Voldemort, now Death personally. Who next? God, assuming that He existed?

“No.” Death answered, and leisurely pushed themself of the wall and walked up to Harry. They gripped Harry’s chin and lifted his face upwards. Harry forcibly turned his head to the side. He could see Tom watching their interaction from the corner of his eyes.

“Are you taking a turn at Bushy Park with Death? Hauling someone’s ashes?” Tom asked, his tone of voice hard to decipher. Harry couldn’t quite tell if he was interested, incredulous or disgusted.

“What?” Harry asked, rather eloquently. He had heard of Bushy Park in London, but he didn’t understand the context of Tom’s question.

“They’re euphemism, from the 1800’s and the 1920’s.” Tom explained. “Apparently they’re wasted on someone like you. I was asking if you’re in a sexual relationship with Death.”

Harry took a step back to distance himself from Death. Their grip on his chin tightened for a moment before they let go.  
“We are not- Why would- with Death! We didn’t even meet before today!” Harry stumbled over his words in his hurry to deny any possibilities of such a thing. It did not help that Death chose to answer at the same time with a helpful; “How so? Are you jealous, Tom? I might share if you ask.”

“I don’t share.” Tom answered simply. It did not make Harry feel better in any way, as it implied that Tom wouldn’t mind… hauling someone’s ashes with him. Likely literally as well. Harry made a mental note to avoid both ashes and Bushy Park in the near future.

“This has been lovely,” Harry started drily. “But it’s been a long day, and I’m sure people are missing me by now. Is it possible for me to apparate away without being followed?”

“You could try.” Death offered. “I don’t know the limits of the soul bond.”

“I’d prefer to not be left behind.” Tom added. “I doubt you’d feel comfortable to leave a young Voldemort behind anyway.”

“Okay,” Harry snapped. “Voldemort is _dead_. You’re not Voldemort, and you’ll never be.”

Tom raised his hands in a placating manner and took a step closer to Harry. In turn, Death took a step away.  
“Be that as it may, I still doubt you truly wish to leave me behind, unwatched.”

Harry couldn’t do anything but sigh tiredly. He dragged a hand through his hair to give himself some time.  
“I know a place, which should be empty. One night only, okay?”

“As you want.”

With a deep breath to collect himself, Harry closed the distance between him and Tom. He threw a quick glance at Death before he took Tom’s arm. As he apparated, his last thought was that he really hoped that Privet Drive 4 still stood empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think about Tom's euphemisms? I found them on a list of 26 historical euphemisms, and they felt rather clever.
> 
> I can't promise that this will update every 2 days or anything like that, only that each chapter will be at least 1k long.
> 
> I can't believe how many that wanted to read it! I love all your comments x And I've noted that most wish for a happy ending. I'll definitely try.
> 
> Comments are extremely appreciated, especially as they give me a sense of direction for my writing. I've started to have some vague plot thoughts for this, but they're not very helpful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of a long day.

The house that they apparated into was dark and empty of any signs of life. Harry thanked his stars that no one had moved into his childhood “home”, even if it had been standing empty for the better part of a year. Now that he was thinking about it, he wasn’t sure if the Dursleys ever officially sold the house - after all it had been the Order that forced them to move. If Vernon had actually bought the house, and if the water and electricity had been turned off, then it would be possible for them to still own the house without wasting any big sums of money on it - if any money at all. He had to confess that he wasn’t completely sure how such things worked, as the Dursleys had never been keen on teaching him things unless they had to do with chores, and the wizarding world did not generally care. Perhaps he would have known if he had taken Muggle Studies.

“Charming place.” Tom interrupted his thoughts. Harry flushed as he remembered that he was still gripping Tom’s arm, and he quickly let go.

“Not the words I would use.” he answered shortly.

“A lumos would be appreciated.” Tom continued. “Especially as I’m without a wand currently.”

Harry nonverbally casted a lumos. If he was honest with himself, he had forgotten that Tom didn’t have a wand. It was in a way mirroring their first meeting, except that there was no Ginny or basilisk this time. He would have to make sure that Tom didn’t take his wand from him, as he didn’t trust Tom yet. If hard pressed, he could probably admit to trusting Tom more than he trusted Death, but that was really not saying anything. The list of people that he actually trusted was incredibly short, especially as many of them had died.

“You should also go to bed.” Death suddenly said, making Harry realise that Tom was no longer next to him. He blinked confusedly and looked around. Had he really been that lost in thoughts?

“Okay, yeah. Sleep.” Harry mumbled distractedly and went up the stairs. By pure instinct, he opened the door to the second bedroom, although he knew that the beds would be more comfortable in any of the other rooms. Even the sofa downstair would be to prefer over his bed. His intimate knowledge of the house made the shock of seeing Tom Riddle standing in his bedroom even greater.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, his tone incredulous. He would have expected Tom to find the room with the biggest bed - that is to say, Petunia and Vernon’s bedroom. Not this.

“The locks made me curious.” Tom explained. It took Harry a moment to make the connection, and when he did, he looked towards his bedroom door and the multiple locks upon it. The cat door was still there as well. For a moment, he thought that it would be hard to sell a house in this condition. At least the bars from his bedroom window were long since gone.

“It’s my bedroom. Was my bedroom.” Harry answered. He watched closely as Tom’s eyes widened slightly in the light of his lumos, and as they got filled with rage on his behalf. There was something unexplainably weird about Tom Riddle being enraged not by him, but for him. Most likely, Tom had forgotten how alike they really were. Harry did not have a clue where Tom had been since the Horcrux had been destroyed, so he had no idea how much Tom actually remembered of their first meeting, and what had been written in the diary.

“I’ll kill them.” Tom swore. Harry stared at him for a moment, unblinking. He had a hard time figuring if Tom said it because they were Muggles, or because they had harmed him.

“Feeling possessive already?” Death asked from behind Harry.

“Why haven’t you killed them already?” Tom countered.

“I’m not an object.” Harry protested as the conversation finally sunk in. He turned around and shouldered his way past Death. He had no intention of staying awake a moment longer, especially not if Tom and Death were going to fight over him. As his old bedroom no longer was an option, he opted for the guest room instead. He had no wish to sleep in a bed that had been used by any of the Dursleys. Of course, Aunt Marge had used the guest room, but at least he knew for sure that the sheets had been changed since her last visit. Assuming that aunt Petunia hadn’t taken all sheets with her. He didn’t know. His sheets had still been there, but then again, those were threadbare and full of holes.

As he tried the lamp in the guest room, he momentarily felt bad about leaving Tom and Death in darkness, but soon pushed away the thought. If anything, they should thrive in it. After he had confirmed that the electricity had been turned off, Harry cancelled his lumos with a quiet nox to free his wand for use. A scourgify on the bed later, he slipped under the cover that had thankfully been left behind. It was indescribable nice to rest his head on a pillow, to actually lie in a real bed.

He could hear the muffled sounds of Tom and Death talking coming through the door. Had he felt more alert, he would probably used a spell to listen in. As it was, Harry let the sounds lull him to sleep.

* * *

Death smiled pleasantly at Tom. The white outlines of a skull on their face glowed ominously in the darkness. It gave them great amusement to see the infamous Tom Riddle look unnerved in their presence. While they applauded Tom’s efforts to escape them, they couldn’t claim that they cared much about him. The only reason that Death had brought Tom back from the afterlife was Harry, their darling Master.

“Have we come to an agreement then?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” Death answered sweetly. “I believe that we have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have no idea where this is going.
> 
> Anyway, I managed to update within a day, which is pretty good. I feel like the chapters are getting shorter though, even with my 1k minimum. Oh well, I really just wanted to wrap the first day up.
> 
> Your comments gives me life and the motivation that I need to finish this


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality sets in.

The sound of a creaking floorboard had him shoot up in a sitting position, take the wand from next to his pillow, aim it towards the noise and cast a lumos before he was fully awake. Harry blinked sleepily as his eyes adjusted to the light. His glasses sat crooked upon his nose, as he had forgotten to take them off before slipping into bed yesterday. He was still exhausted down to his bones after the battle, but months of Horcrux-hunting and hiding from Death Eaters had trained his reflexes. He was ready to apparate away at a seconds notice if needed.

“Master,” Death greeted him, voice sweet as always and hands raised in a placating manner. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t aim at me.”

Harry didn’t lower his wand. Instead, he corrected his glasses with his free hand so that he could glare properly at Death.

“Be that way then.” Death shook their head slightly and lowered their hands.

“What do you want?”

“Play nice, Master. I don’t bite unless you want me to.” Death teased with a smile that looked bizarre on their lips. Harry glanced away for a second. When he looked back, the smile was gone. A shiver ran along his spine, and Harry reluctantly lowered his wand. He assumed it to be because of the light of the lumos, but the skull outlined on Death’s face seemed to be glowing. It added to the ominous feeling he got from being visited by Death in the middle of the night.

“What do you want?” Harry repeated, his voice tired. He wished he could get back to sleep. Death worried him more than Tom Riddle ever could, a bizarre situation if any. He would not be able to sleep as long as Death stood staring at him.

“Just checking in on you.” Death replied. The smile made a quick return, only to morph into something more pleasant yet still out of place. Harry couldn’t help but glance towards the shadows to see if anyone was hiding in them. He felt as if he were surrounded, but he couldn’t see anyone but Death in the room. It did not make him feel better.

“You have, now go.”

“I take it that you don’t care for what I can tell you about a certain Riddle then…” Death started to slowly turn, ready to walk out unless Harry stopped them.

“I don’t care for you at all.” Harry answered, and with a soft nox he ended the conversation. This time he removed his glasses and put them on the bedside table before he lied down to sleep.

“Sweet dreams.”

The floorboards creaked once more as Death left. Harry breathed out in relief when he heard the door close. He had never needed a full night's rest as much as he right now.

* * *

A silvery light spread suddenly through the room. Unlike the first time that he had awoken, Harry took his time to sit up and find his glasses. He had to blink a few times to get used to the light, but when he did he recognised the source of the light to be Hermione’s patronus. The otter looked at him for a long moment before it spoke with Hermione’s voice.

“Harry James Potter, where are you?! Everyone is so worried about you! We thought you got in late last night, but no one have seen you since right after the battle. If you’re not back at Grimmauld Place before noon, we’ll have no choice but send someone to find you. Please send a patronus back saying that you’re alright at the very least!”

The patronus sent him the same look that he expected Hermione would have, and Harry had to stifle a laugh. It was lucky that she hadn’t sent a howler - or worse, that Mrs Weasley hadn’t sent a howler. The otter gave him one last disapproving look before dissolving. Once more in darkness, as the guest room was windowless, Harry reached for his wand. He casted a tempus to see what time it was, as there was no clock left in the room after the Dursleys moved. The glowing numbers made him think of a digital clock, which made him wonder when the wizarding world had been introduced to the 24-hour clock, which in turn made him curious about what had come first - the 12-hour clock or the 24-hour clock? It took a moment before the displayed time finally registered, and it was with a tired groan that Harry saw that it was 8 am. Trust Hermione to wake up early even after all that had happened yesterday.

Unable to get back to sleep, Harry forced himself to get out of bed. It was probably just as well, since there was no food in the house and his stomach had started to rumble as soon as it realised that he was in fact awake. He pinched a bit of his shirt between two fingers and lifted up the material to smell it. The result was that he grimaced and dropped the fabric. When had he last taken a real shower? Too bad that the water was probably turned off. Harry threw a tergeo on himself to get rid of the worst of the blood and sweat. He followed it up with a charm to remove the smell. Neither the clothes or him were technically clean, but it had to do for now.

He dragged a hand through his hair, only for it to get stuck in tangles, as he staggered towards the door. By the time he opened it, he had unraveled a few of the tangles while swearing under his breath and started to walk properly. Harry dragged his hand through his hair one last time as he went out in the hallway. It came free easier this time, but he would still need to wash his hair, or find some spell. Most likely the former, as he didn’t want to rely on magic for everything, and nothing could beat a hot shower.

“Good morning.”

Harry aimed his wand at the person speaking before reality caught up to him. Tom Riddle was standing outside the door to his old bedroom. He had to blink a few time to make sure that he was really awake and not still sleeping, but it soon registered that yesterday had not been a nightmare. He had Death making sexual advances on him, only to bring back Tom Riddle’s first Horcrux from the grave, and to top it all off Harry was stuck in a soulbond with Tom. Just great, amazing, exactly what he needed. He would never be able to explain this to the Order, and they expected him at Grimmauld Place before noon.

“Go and die.” was Harry’s intelligent answer as he lowered his wand. He glanced around for any signs of Death, but the personified concept was nowhere to be seen.

“Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“None of your business.”

“I think you were more pleasant in the warehouse, Harry. Is this really a way to treat your guests?”

“I did not want you here.”

“Your soulmate then.” Tom corrected pleasantly. Harry frowned at him, not sure how anyone could be this… _chipper_ in the morning.

“I have a girlfriend.” Harry frowned deeper. He hadn’t spared Ginny a thought before now, and in all honesty, he couldn’t be sure of what their relationship was. It was not like he could ask any time soon either as she was mourning Fred. He should not be thinking about this at all before the scars from the battle had healed. If he could, he would have blamed Tom for his line of thought, but it would have been unfair of him. Harry pushed the blame upon Death instead.

“It’s not dear Ginevra is it?” Tom asked. “I remember her Valentine Day poem. It was rather horrid before I helped her - I do hope you appreciate my effort. She was many things, but certainly not poetic.”

Harry did not know how to feel at the new information. He had never entertained the thought that Ginny would have had written her poem to Tom for feedback.

“Fresh pickled toad?” he questioned, the situation too bizarre for any other reaction.

“It was the best I could do when she only described your eyes as vibrant or emerald. Had I known then, I would have encouraged her to compare them to the light of the killing curse instead.” Something about the smile Tom gave him at that, made Harry imagine bloodied lips. He looked away, not sure why his eyes had been drawn to Tom’s lips in the first place.

“I prefer the toad.” was all Harry said, as he continued downstairs. There was no real need for it, besides escaping Tom. It did not help, as he heard Tom following him.

“Where are we going?” Tom asked.

“To people who will want you dead.” Harry answered simply. He smiled thinly, a morbid look on his face although he couldn’t see it himself.

“I’m sure it will be pleasant.” Tom murmured from behind him. Harry’s smile grew bigger, giving just a hint of teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember what I said about the chapters getting shorter? It was a lie. This chapter is roughly 1,5k. Could most likely continued for a while too, but I wanted to wrap it up.
> 
> So, what do you guys think? Does it feel like there's a plot yet? (There's not. Believe me.)
> 
> As always, I live for your comments x If I could, I'd give you all cookies and hugs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hard conversations are to be held.

“ **Is this safe?** ”

Death smiled. It was only teeth.  
“It’s entertainment.”

“ **I hope you know what you’re doing, Mictlantecuhtli.** ”

Their smile widened beyond what was humanly possible. Then again, they were not human.  
“Do I not always?” they asked. With a snap of their fingers, they disappeared back to the realm of their “Master”.

* * *

The sun was already high in the sky by the time they appeared in front of Grimmauld Place. A church bell was ringing in the background, signalling that the clock had just struck 12. A faint wind rustled through the nearby trees; the street was otherwise silent.

“It’s not very clever, is it?” a clear voice asked, not expecting an answer. Their companion ignored them in favor of staring at the spot between 11 Grimmauld Place and 13 Grimmauld Place. “Even a Muggle could get in if they so desired.” the clear voice continued, with a hint of amusement directed at the stupidity of the Fidelius Charm. Just as the sentence ended, 11 and 13 separated to reveal 12 Grimmauld Place.

“The Blacks always did have a flair for the dramatic.” The clear voice finally got a reaction from their companion, in shape of a head turning to the side so quickly that their neck almost made a snapping sound. “So do most Pureblood families for that matter.” the clear voice added, once again with amusement.

“You should not be able to see it. I never told you the address.” the companion spoke up.

“Either the Fidelius needs to be strengthened, or it’s thanks to our soul bond.” the clear voice answered, their tone of voice making it strikingly obvious that they did not care either way. Before the companion could answer, the door to Grimmauld Place was slammed open.

* * *

“Harry!” A redhead was running down the stairs and then suddenly throwing themself at him. Harry took an awkward half-step back as he caught them. He could see Hermione and Ron walking out from Grimmauld Place as well, but they kept more of a normal pace.

“Hello, Ginny.” he answered, and awkwardly patted her back. He couldn’t help but glance towards Tom, whose amused smile seemed awfully stiff. For some reason, his chemistry with Ginny felt lacking. Perhaps it had something to do with suddenly being immortal… she would age, and die, and he wouldn’t. ...would he age? Harry frowned at having to ask Death anything, especially this. His frown soon disappeared when he remembered that he was being watched and instead he gave Hermione and Ron a slightly embarrassed smile as he let go of Ginny.

“Who is that?” Ron asked, somewhat rudely, at the same time as Ginny noticed Tom’s presence. Ron barely had time to end his question before Ginny had a wand aimed at Tom’s face and an arm thrown out to keep the others behind her.

“Harry?” she asked sharply. He was thankful that she waited to do anything else until he had explained; not even her famous bat-bogey hex.

“It’s a long story…” Harry admitted, as he avoided meeting his friends’ eyes. He could feel Tom’s eyes on him, watching him. He found that he didn’t mind as much as he probably should have. Perhaps because right now Tom was on his side and his friends weren’t; or they wouldn’t be when they knew the truth.

“You haven’t been gone a full 24 hours yet.” Hermione said, her voice kind but with an undercurrent of annoyance. He assumed it was because he never contacted them. In the end, he didn’t even send a patronus to say that he was okay. He couldn’t muster up the necessary memories for it.

“Does anyone want tea?” Ron asked, awkwardly. It hit Harry that neither of his best friends could recognize Tom Riddle as they had never seen him before. They hadn’t found a picture in their second year; only an award for services to the school.

“Tea sounds good.” Tom answered. Ginny jabbed the wand tip closer to his face. Harry sighed. This couldn’t possibly end well...

* * *

“What do you mean he’s Voldemort?” Ron exclaimed, halfway through Harry’s explanation. Harry wished he could slam his head against the table, but that would not only result in spilt tea but also be seen as rude. He had to make do with internally screaming in frustration, which just did not have the same effect.

“I’m telling you, Ron, that he’s _not_ Voldemort. Voldemort is dead - I bloody _killed_ him.” Harry sighed. “What I am saying is that Tom is the part that never became Voldemort. You remember our second year? The chamber, the diary? _Tom was the diary_. It was a Horcrux, okay?” Harry’s voice got more irritated as he went on. Hermione pushed his mug of tea closer to him, and Harry gave her an embarrassed smile as he picked it up. The warm beverage helped calm his nerves. This conversation could probably gone better… it was a small comfort that they were alone in the kitchen; especially as Ginny seemed ready to curse Tom at any moment. Harry would not stop her if she did, but they shouldn’t start any unnecessary fights. Besides, Tom was still unarmed.

“Continue, Harry.” Hermione prompted softly.

* * *

“Are you in a relationship with Death?”

Harry turned to Ginny with a raised eyebrow. She had calmed down during his explanation, partly thanks to the tea. At least she no longer had her wand out.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Harry asked rhetorically. “I’m not! Why would I- ugh…”

His friends gave small laughs at his expense, with the exception of Tom; although Harry did not count Tom as a friend anyway. Harry glared at them until they stopped.

“I’m sexually harassed by Death, it’s not funny.” he bit out.

“It is though, mate.” Ron answered. “You’ve flirted with death at the end of every year, and now Death want you.”

This time, Harry let his head fall to the table with a quiet groan. He loved his friends, but he had no idea how they had ended up talking about this. It also frustrated him that Ginny didn't seem to care. Perhaps she was just putting up a front. He would have to talk with her privately later… but he didn’t completely trust to leave Tom alone with his friends. This whole situation was a mess.

“If you’re quite done,” Tom started after he politely cleared his throat to get their attention. “I’d appreciate being brought up to date. I was rather centered on Voldemort the last time,” Tom paused at this to give Ginny a meaningful glance. Harry pretended that he didn’t see while Ginny scowled in Tom’s direction. “And unlike my counterpart, I never completed my schooling. I’m sure the magical world has had new discoveries since the 40’s.”

“Oh, I have some books that you can borrow!” Hermione chimed in. Harry tried listening as she and Tom started discussing what had changed in the magic world during the last 55 years, but he quickly found himself zoning out. At least until Ginny tapped his shoulder and nodded her head towards the door; a sign that they should excuse themselves for a private conversation. Harry appreciated that she had decided to take advantage of the others’ distraction. He quietly rose from his chair and walked after her out of the room. Ron gave him a look that signified a scream for help as he passed, but seemed to understand that Harry needed to talk to Ginny alone.

Harry could only hope that it would be a pleasant conversation. He had rather mixed feelings towards his relationship with Ginny, and he expected that she was probably rather cross with him for bringing back Tom Riddle. It would really be best case scenario if he survived without getting hexed, although perhaps he would deserve it. It was with a feeling of trepidation that Harry followed Ginny into the formal dining room on the first floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I got stuck halfway through and it took me a while to realize that my writing seemed stilted because I had subconsciously started using the wrong tense. Had to go back and forth a few times to catch my mistakes.
> 
> I really hope I'm doing the characters at least some justice, because I don't think I've ever written Ron or Hermione before. I have some very Tom/Harry-centric fics... and the one time I wrote Ginny was in an AU.
> 
> Suggestions and comments are welcomed xxx


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgetting and denial.

“ _Not Voldemort_?” Ginny hissed at him as soon as the door had closed behind them. Harry took a step away from her to not feel the electric magic that started to gather. Her fiery red hair seemed static, and once Harry would have thought that she looked beautiful like this. Now that it was directed towards him, he still found her beautiful but in the sense of something ethereal; something beyond Earth and something he knew he can’t have. Nothing like the down-to-Earth beauty that Ginny had had before.

“I haven’t forgotten-” Harry tried to placate her but quieted down at Ginny’s glare.

“You haven’t forgotten _what_ , Harry?” Ginny asked, her tone laced with venom directed at the incomplete boy that they had left behind downstairs. “How this is the very same Tom Riddle that charmed me to trust him; that _possessed me_ and stole my life? The very same Tom Riddle that was going to _leave_ my cold _corpse_ behind in the Chamber?” She ended her sentence with a disbelieving laugh. The magic in the air around her seemed to crackle.

“I haven’t forgotten that he sent a basilisk at me to kill me or that he petrified our friends!” Harry snapped. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself directly afterwards. It would not help their situation if they started a fight. “I haven’t forgotten,” he started again in a quiet tone. “But it makes it **easier** to pretend that he isn’t the same person that came up with the name Voldemort; the same person that set a basilisk loose in a school twice.”

“Then why did you bring him here?” Ginny demanded to know. Her voice was still full of venom and righteous fire but the magic around her wasn’t as suffocating as before. Still she remained ethereal and Harry understood that they could never go back to what they once had been. It was not a question of lacking chemistry; it was that he had changed and now Ginny was too good for him.

“Death bound our souls together. There’s an invisible chain forcing me to keep him close.”

Ginny shook her head at his explanation.  
“No Harry, I mean **why** did **you** bring him _**here**_?”

Harry felt his body freeze as her meaning hit him. His mind whirred with thoughts as he tried to find a way to answer; to explain himself. He tried to say something but his tongue felt as if it was glued to the roof of his mouth. Ginny left the room when it became clear that no answer was forthcoming. She took the last of his naivety with her.

* * *

Harry had desired Tom Riddle; _was desiring_ Tom Riddle. The shock of truth had him fall to his knees. A shell of a person decorated the Black family’s formal dining room floor. Thunder could be heard from outside and the moment later rain started to fall. It was the sort of unforgiving rain that could pierce skin like needles. Had Harry been aware of his surroundings, he would have thought about his late godfather and their sense for dramatics. As it were, Harry was lost to the world as he tried to understand where he had gone wrong. Was it as Death had suggested; a piece of him was missing and only Tom could fill the hole?

He was brought back from the sound of slow clapping; the beats of the sarcastic applause matching the thunder outside down to the millisecond. Harry raised his head from the floor, his eyes meeting Death’s. The smile on their lips was just as devastatingly sweet as their voice.

“I’m proud of you, Master.”

“Don’t be.” Harry replied tonelessly. He forced himself to stand up; his limbs felt heavy and clumsy as if they did not really belong to him.It was if he had an out-of-body experience while still shackled to the shell of flesh that supposedly was him.

“Is that an order?” Death asked, their eyes twinkling in anticipation. Harry met the twinkling eyes with a blank look, briefly thinking back on the ways Dumbledore’s eyes used to twinkle. It did not fit Death in the way that it had fitted Dumbledore; but the limitations of humanity were foreign on Death where they had been part of Dumbledore. Death should not rely on a shell of flesh to translate their being - they were an entity beyond even magic. Yet, when Death behaved like this, Harry would love nothing more than punch their face it hopes of hearing the satisfying sound of bones cracking. Where Ginny had been something out-of-reach with her ethereality, Death were too close no matter the distance between them.

“Would you listen if it were?”

“You’re my Master, even if you try to forget it.”

“Then I order you to leave me be.”

“ _That_ , I can not do.” Death answered with a delighted laugh. It once more sounded like rattling bones; Harry had hoped it had been because of the echoing in the tower but there was no echo to be find in the dining room. He wondered what Death would look like if the flesh prison burned away.

“Then what’s the point of being your Master?”

“ _That_ , I can not tell you.” Death said, in parody of their earlier answer. Harry looked heavenwards as if in silent prayer until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Death had stepped closer, invading his personal space. Harry took a step backwards in response; Death’s grip got harder for a moment before they let go.

“You did not mind yesterday.”

“Yesterday’s consent is not today’s consent.”

“My apologies. May I kiss you?”

Harry took another step backwards. It brought him closer to the door; which had been left slightly opened after Ginny vacated him. He turned and left the room without giving Death an answer. He could hear Death’s laughter following as he took the stairs two steps at a time.

* * *

“I started to think that you had left me behind.” Tom greeted him when Harry entered the kitchen. Neither Ginny or Ron was anywhere to be seen, the table was covered in books, and Mrs Weasley was bustling around making lunch. Harry briefly wondered how long he had been on his knees in the formal dining room before Death brought him from his thoughts, but decided that it couldn’t have been that long if they arrived at 12 and Mrs Weasley was making lunch first now. Instead he wondered what his friends had told her about Tom, because he couldn’t believe Mrs Weasley would be her usual pleasant self if she knew the truth about him.

“Harry dear, how nice to see you!” Mrs Weasley paused in what she was doing to give him a big hug. Harry patted her back awkwardly. It reminded him of the hug with Ginny earlier; after seven years he was still no good with prolonged physical contact. Death had been an exception, and in truth, Harry had not been himself yesterday.

“It’s good to see you too, Mrs Weasley.”

“Molly, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Molly?” Mrs Weasley asked with a bright smile as she let go of him. Her smile was soon replaced with a frown. “You really should have come here earlier, dear. Everyone was so worried when you disappeared after the battle!”

Harry was about to reply but the words got stuck in his throat. If Mrs Weasley was trying to pretend that everything was normal, that she hadn’t lost a son yesterday, then he wasn’t going to stop her. He felt ashamed of himself for bringing Tom to Grimmauld Place when the Weasleys were in mourning, and more so when he had wasted Ron and Ginny’s time with his own problems. He gave Mrs Weasley a sheepish smile and a mumbled promise that he would make sure to let someone know the next time he planned on disappearing. It seemed to placate her as Mrs Weasley was soon smiling again.

“Now that that is over with; when were you going to introduce me to your lovely boyfriend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got really inspired earlier today and wrote ~600 words on my phone. Then I got the inspiration to finish the chapter, though it went on/off for a bit.
> 
> Mrs Weasley's denial is partly because I keep forgetting that Fred is dead and that they are mourning. I do hope I still manage to stick to canon pretty well.
> 
> Please comment xxx


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are worth noticing, others aren't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the awful wait! I haven't abandoned this, I just got sidetracked. A lot.

“What boyfriend?” Harry asked, internally flinching at how stupid the words sounded as he uttered them. His eyes betrayed him by glancing towards Tom, who was smiling at him in a way that managed to be both cruel and pleasant all at once. “Oh. That boyfriend.”

“I do hope that you’re not cheating on me.” Tom said, batting his eyelashes in a manner that should not fit yet did. Harry got a vivid image of Tom kneeling at his feet; long eyelashes batting against Tom’s high cheekbones and red plump lips open wantonly. He had to physically shake his head to get rid of the picture, and he hoped no attention would be brought to his reddened cheeks. He ignored the knowing smile that Tom directed at him. It would not surprise him if legilimency had been involved.

“I was not aware we were dating. Last I checked, we were not even friends.” Harry bit back, unhappy with the intrusion on his private thoughts and with Tom’s self-declared role in his life.

“Harry!” Mrs Weasley sounded properly scandalized at his rude comment. Harry gave her an abashed smile and moved to help her make lunch, hoping to make up for his behaviour. There were no worse feeling than having Mrs Weasley be disappointed in him.

“Only some friendly banter, Mrs Wea- Molly.” Harry corrected himself at last minute, not wishing to upset her any more by even the smallest thing. “Tom and I go _way_ back. I’m sorry for never introducing you.”

He wondered how Mrs Weasley would react if he told her the truth about Tom. He did not wish to find out. A mother protecting her children was truly a frightening sight, and Tom’s crime against Ginny was no small matter. A small voice in his head reminded him that Mrs Weasley would be upset by Tom’s crimes against him as well, though Harry gave it the benefit of the doubt.

“If you say so, dear.” Mrs Weasley answered, her eyes kind although she didn’t seem to fully believe him. Her eyes widened slightly as she seemed to realise what he was doing.“Oh, there’s no need to help with the food, Harry. You sit down and I’ll have lunch done in a jiffy!”

Feeling oddly chastised for helping, a feeling that would never made itself known when he lived with the Dursleys, Harry obediently sat down by the kitchen table. He ended up next to Tom; the expression keep your friends close and your enemies closer came to mind but he doubted that it was meant to be taken quite this literally.

“How’s research going?” he asked, carefully choosing his words in case Mrs Weasley were listening to them. The longer she remained unaware of Tom’s true identity, the better, though he would have to inform the Order sooner rather than later. Perhaps he could get by with only informing Shacklebolt, but as the Weasleys - with exception of Percy - were all members as well as currently sharing his residence, perhaps not.

While he as owner of Grimmauld Place and holder of the wards could throw them out if he so desired, such action was really only for worst case scenario. That line of thought brought with it the question of if any other Black relatives could challenge his ownership of the building, as well as if there was more to Sirius’ will than what he had been told by Dumbledore. He had no desire to encounter the goblins so soon after he stole their dragon and destroyed their building, but sadly it seemed as if it might be a must.

“Are you listening to me?” Tom questioned, bringing Harry back to what was happening around him. He was shocked to realise that books were no longer covering the table; instead plates with food were floating down as Mrs Weasley conducted the magic with her wand as a conductor would with music. Had he really been lost in thought for that long?

“Sorry.” Harry mumbled; he kept his eyes on the table to avoid looking at Tom. He could not help but feel embarrassed as he had not heard anything of what Tom had said.

“You’ll have to make it up to me, precious.”

Harry couldn’t help but shiver; Tom had leant forward to whisper in his ear, and Tom’s lowered voice was pure sin to listen to. He could picture in his mind how Tom’s lips formed around the last word. Suddenly overcome with a need to know if Tom’s lips were as red in real life as they were in his imagination, Harry turned his head towards the person in question.

A gasp of surprise got stuck in his throat as he realised how close they were. Tom hadn’t moved back after whispering in his ear, meaning that their lips were only mere centimeters apart. Harry’s gaze flickered between Tom’s lips - which were just as red in real life - and his dark eyes that seemed filled with lust.

“Get a room, you two.”

Harry flinched back at the interruption, as well as at the hand that had landed on his shoulder. He looked up to see George grinning down at them. In contrast, Tom was glaring at George; most likely unhappy with the interruption. They had been so close to- to- Harry was not quite sure. They had been close to something. He felt relieved that nothing had happened, and matched George’s grin with one of his own.

A moment of looking up at George sent off a warning signal in his mind that something was wrong. It was undoubtedly the ginger menace he was looking at but something felt off; as if something were missing. Perhaps it was just the absence of Fred’s presence at George’s shoulder that he was noticing, or perhaps he were just imagining it. Harry did not feel like he was in the right state of mind at the moment.

Then it clicked.

“Did you get your ear grown back?” Harry asked. His eyes were glued onto the side of George’s face, where an ear was clearly sticking out from a cover of red hair although there shouldn’t be one.

“You can’t grow back an ear,” Tom answered from next to him, before adding quiet enough that Harry barely caught it: “Or you couldn’t 55 years ago…”

“Clever friend you got there, Harry.” George grinned wider at the two of them. “I’m not George, I’m Fred.”

Mrs Weasley dropped a plate. The sound of porcelain breaking echoed in the kitchen, though echoes rarely were invited into the space. They had no business inviting themself into a moment to this, and soon stopped bouncing around between the walls.

“Th-that’s not funny, Georgie.” Mrs Weasley said as she started cleaning up the broken plate and wasted food.

“He’s not Georgie, I am.” another voice said from the doorway. And then, in unison:

“Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?”

Mrs Weasley dropped together with the plate this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lack of Death in this chapter, and Harry has started noticing Tom. I doubt there'll be time for much else when it comes to Tom/Harry for a while though; Harry has after-war math and Tom has research. Death on the other hand is not busy at all.
> 
> Was bringing back Fred a good decision or a bad decision? I just couldn't keep the twins apart. Also, you know, plot reasons.
> 
> Shout out to CrysallydOnCarMINeWilloW for the idea.
> 
> Planned updates for October in no particular order:  
> Death's Childe  
> Riddle's Evil Inc.  
> Flight from Death


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of war, there's selfishness and guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it's been almost a year... yeah. I would apologise, but I don't think I have to.  
> Regular updates don't work for me because life and mental health get in the way. Sadly, it affects my ability to write.  
> BUT. I love all my stories. Some of the older ones might need to be rewritten and have the plot looked through, but I'll never abandon a story.

Harry could not bring himself to be surprised at the revelation that Fred had been brought back to life. Upset, agitated, even furious, yes, but not surprised. Of course, none of these feelings were directed at Fred - or George. They had done nothing- no, he had to correct himself. Fred had done nothing but die for them. George must have done something, and if Fred had come back from the grave, then surely Death was involved.

“Did you know that identical twins are rumoured to share souls in some cultures?” Tom’s word was fed into his ear in a sugary tone, too much like Death’s honeyed voice for Harry’s comfort. He was no fly; they would not be able to catch him by being sweet.

“Soulbond.” Harry mumbled back, his eyes going from Fred to George and back again. The twins were kneeling next to Mrs Weasley, assuring her that it was alright, that it wasn’t a cruel trick; all with tears in their eyes and smiles on their lips.

“My clever boy.” The honey was thicker than it had been before. Just hearing it made Harry’s skin feel sticky. He felt even more in need of a hot shower than before; he needed all traces of death - and Death - washed off of him. Not that a shower would ever be enough. He had blood on his hands, scars that would never heal.

Harry gave the twins one last look before he turned his glowing eyes towards Death. The smile on their face was cruel in only the upturn of the corners; the rest was deceivingly pleasant. Harry’s lips thinned out in disapproval. He apparated to Walburga Black’s former room, both to quietly give the Weasleys privacy, and in hope of holding an undisturbed conversation.

* * *

“ _What. Did. You. **Do.**_ ” Harry bit out his demand as soon as Death appeared in front of him, anger filling the vacant space in his bones. He felt shame as he realised that he had not been this angry when Death bound him to Tom, but his life held less value than George’s. Not only that, but Tom was made up by a soul part that Voldemort had thrown aside - Fred had given his whole life; his whole soul.

“I healed your surrogate brother’s soul. Leaving him with only half would be cruel.”

Harry would have believed them, if Death’s smile weren’t crueller than their words. As his anger stopped burning hot - the flames diminishing down to something cold and fearsome - the background bled into his vision; it fit Death like a glove. There was still bones and blood on the floor since before the war - back when Buckbeak had occupied the room - and Walburga’s taste in interior design was grotesque. Nothing less should be expected of a woman who had once put house elves’ cut off heads on the wall as decoration.

The door to the bedroom opened before Harry could form the cold flames into scathing words. He turned to glare at whoever interrupted them, but his glare faltered as he realised that it was Tom.

“You left me in the kitchen, clearly intruding on a private moment between your red-headed companions.” Tom greeted them, not attempting to hide his disgruntlement over the situation. Harry did not feel better seeing him, but he did feel better knowing that Tom was out of sight of any Order members. He felt better knowing that Tom had sought him out, instead of taking it as an opportunity to disappear. Of course, their bond limited them, but Grimmauld Place had too many rooms, too many secrets.

“I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t be forcibly apparated with me.” Harry admitted. He wondered if they could measure the distance between the basement and the third floor, before realising that it would much simpler to test the limits of the bond by going outside and walking in different directions. Surely, a bond that forcibly apparated Tom would also set up invisible walls if they were too far apart.

Tom said nothing but instead turned to give Death an annoyed look. Harry turned as well; he was still angry over the situation that they had left behind in the kitchen.

“Would it be better if I left your friend with a bigger hole than the hole I healed for you?” Death asked. Their smile remained cruel honey, but their voice was as cold as Harry’s anger. “Would it be better if your friend saw a ghost every time he looked in the mirror?”

Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe. Death’s words were like daggers, and he was unable to defend himself. The blood ran cold in his veins as he tried to imagine George’s pain; he tried comparing it to looking in the mirror and seeing the parents that he had never known, to having every adult in his life compare him to a man named James and a woman named Lily, but it couldn’t in any way measure up.

If not for Tom’s arms suddenly holding him up, his knees would’ve hit the floor.

“You did this for no one but yourself.” Tom spat out, his eyes cold but his hands soft. Harry turned his head; hid his wet eyes against the fabric of Tom’s shirt. He agreed that Death thought of no one but themself, but that did not lessen the overwhelming guilt he felt. He had been selfish. He wasn’t allowed to be selfish. Especially not in the aftermath of a war that had been fought for him; because of him.

“I only do what my Master wants.”

Harry ripped himself from Tom’s embrace, careful not to push Tom away as he freed himself.

“You do only what you want! I’ve asked you for nothing!”

“As I’ve told you before, everything is in your soul, Master.”

“You say that, but how can I trust your words when the only one able to see my soul is you?”

“Death cannot lie, as I’ve told you before.”

“Yet you still twist facts to work in your favour!”

“It’s not lying.”

The words were coated with enough honey to make Harry suffocate. Tom’s arms found their way around his waist once more, supporting him as the sudden fire died down. He was tired, he was hungry, he was dirty. Too much had happened in the short time since he returned to Grimmauld Place, since the war had ended.

Harry didn’t protest as Tom coaxed him over to the bed. He thought about mentioning the bedroom that he had shared with Ron in the past, but they were in Walburga’s room; the Master bedroom. He had to accept that it belonged to him, that he was the Master of the house unless a rightful Black tried to claim it. If they did, Harry would fight them with tooth and nail - Grimmauld Place was the only thing that remained of Sirius.

His thoughts washed away as soon as his head hit the pillow, the emotional exhaustion forcing his body asleep.

* * *

Harry made for a pretty picture, brown skin and black hair contrasting against the pristine white sheets even when covered in grime and blood. It could only be prettier if Harry’s eyes had looked back at him. Tom felt like he was struck by the killing curse whenever he held Harry’s attention; it was thrilling. The corner of his lips turned up slightly, in the softest of smiles. It disappeared as his attention was diverted from Harry by Death politely clearing their throat.

“I hope you remember our agreement.”

“You should be more concerned with remembering it yourself.” Tom shot back. If words were poison, Death would not be smiling.

“I’m not human,” Death reminded, tone too reminiscent of what one would use when speaking with a child. “My memory has no limits.”

“Yet you’re already testing the lines of our agreements.”

“I only want for my Master to be happy, by any means necessary.”

Tom looked back to Harry instead of answering. This was perhaps the only thing in which he would agree with Death. Although he had questions about his other self, and old plans he wanted to put into work, Harry’s happiness was above anything else.

His existence relied on Harry being happy. Death had made that clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry needs a break. Tom is soft. Death is an arse. Plot remains a mystery.
> 
> I hope y'all will be patient with me. I really can't promise anything about updates, because I have multiple other stories that I want to work on, not to mention school work and just trying to be a functioning adult.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment xxx
> 
> Suggestions and opinions will be taken into consideration for the plot and ending!
> 
> Check me out/send me prompts at clarisselwyn.tumblr.com and havsgast.tumblr.com


End file.
